


What Lies Were You Told, What Lies Do You Tell

by Azlykumos



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Discussions of the lies that Ishgard was founded on, Gen, Ishgard (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 3.0: Heavensward, Set after the WoL comes to Ishgard but before they do the branching quests, magical geas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azlykumos/pseuds/Azlykumos
Summary: One cold morning, Edmont de Fortemps sees one of the Warriors of Light examining the Architects. Of all three of the Triptych Warriors, Strikefire Oandore remains an enigma, claiming that she hates the city that has given refuge to the Warriors. Edmont has some questions for her.
Kudos: 4





	What Lies Were You Told, What Lies Do You Tell

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a cutscene from a longform RP, where me and my friends take 3 Warriors of Light through the story, one of whom is Emmanellain de Fortemps. I control both Strikefire (my WoL) and Edmont in the rp, and I wanted the two of them to have a discussion. The only way to do that would be talking heads, or a cutscene, so here you go! This was written back in August of 2018.
> 
> Edmont fascinates me as a character, and I think there's a lot of nuance to him that the game kind of refuses to go into.

Edmont de Fortemps had woken up early, more of a feat due to old injuries plaguing him than any real desire to actually enter the world of consciousness. The pressure in the air had gotten worse overnight, and his left leg locked up terribly if he didn’t move around. The dragon that had wounded him still lingered in his mind some nights, taunting him with the death of his brother, with fangs and fire flashing in his memories. 

But he was here, and that dragon was long gone. 

The predawn light filtered through the scarce windows of the mansion as he forced himself to get up out of bed. His cane was by his bed, servicing him well even these long years later, and he grabbed it to use while he walked to his wardrobe. If his knee was this bad already, they were in for a furious snowstorm. No doubt the skywatchers had already informed the city proper, and preparations were being made, but still he wondered. The city lost people with every blizzard that rolled through, even with the provisions and preparations made each time, and their dwindling population continued to decline. Added with the dragon attacks, food shortages, and internal strife, it would be a Fury given  _ miracle _ if the city lasted another twenty years… 

Perhaps his old age was making him pessimistic, he mused, as he threw on his fur lined coat and wrapped his neck in a soft wool scarf. Surely things would turn around — Emmanellain had come home, bringing with him two people of vast talent and skill, Haurchefant had dealt serious blows to heretic factions, and Artoriel labored to improve the city’s infrastructure via trade and politics. His sons made his heart swell with pride over all they had accomplished, and he gave thanks to the Fury that She had blessed him with such children. Ishgardian life was not an easy one, but they all seemed to rise to the challenge. 

It was still early morning as he opened the front door, leading out to the Last Vigil. The man on guard nodded to him, and offered to escort him around the city, but Edmont shook his head. “Merely going to the chapel, nothing more.” He murmured, and set off northward in a leisurely stroll. He could take the aetheryte, but… a morning walk would do well to soothe whatever nerves he may have. 

His mind turned to the companions Emmanellain had brought home, the miqo’te and the small hyur. The miqo’te he knew, at least vaguely, by Haurchefant’s relationship with the man, and he couldn’t help but be proud that his son had found happiness in another. Haurchefant was a fundamentally softhearted man, who treasured people, and he needed someone in his life to share love and happiness with. 

The hyur woman though, gave him pause. She had outright said that she disliked the city, and that she would rather not be there. But she had promised not to cause strife, or issues in the Pillars or otherwise, which was… more than he could say for any of his sons. Little comments surrounding her, or snatches of conversation he had overheard, or rumors that had floated by him about her age. If they were to be believed, she was older than  _ him _ , even if that she looked barely older than twenty summers. And a strange name at that, following roe conventions -- Strike Fire. 

He kept walking towards the cathedral, intending to go by the Hoplon and curve round to the west, to Saint Reymanaud’s, when a figure in the dim morning light caught his attention. Across the plaza was the very woman he had just been thinking about, cloaked in furs and a dusting of snow along her shoulders and head, highlighting the white streaks in her black hair. She seemed to have her face tipped upwards, staring at the statue in front of the Vault of King Thordan the First, and her hands in her sleeves. 

Edmont dithered for a moment on whether or not to approach her, but he realized that he had better extend the same courtesy he had given Suna’ya, and make his feelings towards his guests known. He coughed into his hand lightly, and walked forward, his cane tapping lightly against the cobblestones of the Hoplon. 

“Pardon me, my lady, but is it not rather early for you to be out and about?” He asked, standing a few feet away from her in respect of her personal space. She seemed to have taken to carrying knives on her person as of late. 

“I haven’t slept yet.” She admitted. She turned then, to face him, and unnerving lightning grey eyes alighted on him. Her mouth was set into a thin line, and she looked exhausted, with bags under her eyes, and a pinched look to her brows. “Is it dawn already…? Seems only a bell ago I came out to look at the … Architects.” 

Edmont could not help but notice how her expression twisted at the final word, and he looked around at the statues surrounding them, and leading to the Last Vigil. “Do you not like them?” He asked, and was truly curious about her answer. 

“They’re fine works of art,” she said, her voice flat. “But they’re still the foundation of your lies.” 

“Lies, my lady?” He asked, unable to keep the surprise from his face. He wished he had Artoriel’s skill with politics; his son could speak up and down and never betray anything true or false. “What lies do you speak of?” 

She rolled her shoulders in agitation, muttering quietly, “I really need to learn how to keep my mouth shut, or I’ll get a  _ stern talking to _ by your inquisitors…” 

“Perhaps we can speak more privately?” He suggested. “I realize our city is not kind to outsiders.” 

“Walk with me, then,” she said, turning eastward to head back down towards the Tribunal. Her footsteps made no noise on the cobbles, and she almost seemed to ghost through the snow. “Every time I bring it up, Lain and I get into fights. He may have run away, but he still loves this city. For some reason.” 

“Pardon my asking, but what has Ishgard done to you, my Lady?” Edmont asked, following her sedately pace down the ramp. “It has been closed to outsiders long before you were born.” 

A mirthless laugh came from her lips, and she stared up at the engraving of Halone above the Tribunal. “I can’t answer, not really. A geas stops me from talking about it, by choking the air out of my lungs and other painful things. But I’ll tell you what I can—I think I’ve figured out what I can and can’t talk about.” 

“A geas? I am unfamiliar with the term, might you explain it?” He asked, leaning more on his cane as they passed the Tribunal. 

“A geas is a taboo, or more akin to a vow, depending on the spell. Some are beneficial, others are to prevent people from speaking or acting on particular things. Mine prevents me from speaking of the circumstances of Ishgard’s founding, or any events surrounding it. I am physically unable to speak, and words get caught in my throat. If I try to force it, I choke.” 

Edmont eyed her for a moment, unsure of what to make of such a spell. Rituals and other magicks were not uncommon in Ishgard, but this felt almost … heretical. “That’s extremely powerful magic, Miss, whom did you anger?” 

“A lot of people. Namely Thordan, and Haldrath,” she says, as if she had spoken to Thordan himself. She turned away from the Tribunal, and they skirted around the fountain in the lower plaza. “I was old already by the time I met them, King Thordan and his ‘Knights twelve’. Most of them were just mercenaries that he hired to do his dirty work.” 

Edmont halted at the foot of the ramp leading back up to the Last Vigil, and stared down at her, his mouth open. “You — you cannot possibly have met them. That was over a thousand years ago.” 

She met his gaze squarely, eyebrows drawn tight over her lightning gaze, and her hair whipping in the wind. Tattoos lined her cheeks, black ink shimmering in the morning light and showing arcane patterns that made some part of Edmont’s mind whisper  _ dark magicks.  _ He could have sworn he had seen symbols like that before, on fires that lit the city up when he was young. 

“I was born in the city of Mhach, over fifteen hundred years past, Lord Fortemps.” She said, her voice crystal clear in the morning air. “I watched your city be built on the backs of the dead, and made stronger by generations of lies.” 

“Are you saying you were there when our city was founded?” Edmont asked, his voice incredulous. “To see King Thordan be attacked by Nidhogg unjustly?” 

She eyed him coolly, and started walking again, drawing her furs tighter around herself while she moved forward. “That isn’t what happened. Nor was Queen Shiva a heretic.” 

“That is a very large claim, my lady. What evidence could you have to support it?” 

“None, save for my memories,” she admitted bitterly. “I can’t even tell you much more because of the geas. I’d suggest talking to a dragon that was old enough, maybe one of Hraesvelgr’s brood, but your …  _ Holy See _ has declared that a sin.” Her contempt was clear in her voice. “What good is a religion built on secrets?” 

“The Holy See has ever guided us through hard times, Miss,” Edmont said. It was perhaps a little worrying that the words came to his lips on instinct. “What secrets they keep are for them to protect us from. And dragons have always been our enemy, regardless of what brood they are from.” 

“That’s a lie,” she said, almost before his sentence was even over. “Hraesvelgr And Ra—“ 

Edmont watched as her voice cut off, and she held her throat as she sputtered. Anger flashed across her features as she coughed and tried to be able to breathe again, before groaning and rubbing her neck. 

“Are you …. Alright?” Edmont asked, knowing the futility of his question. “It looks rather painful.” 

She cleared her throat and started walking again, her face a swirl of fury as fierce as the morning snow. “I can’t  _ talk _ about it. No, I’m not okay. It’s not even that I angered anyone, It’s that she didn’t want the secret coming out. I can’t speak of it until after events are revealed by hands that are  _ not  _ mine.” 

“That is highly specific, my lady,” Edmont said, his brows furrowing. He turned to the right, and the two architects looked down on them from where they guarded Fortemps and Haillenarte Manor. “Did the person who made this Gaes know the exact way these ‘lies’ would be shaped?” 

Relief flickered across her eyes, and she sighed. “No. She merely … after certain events came to pass, I could no longer speak of the  _ true _ events to anyone who was not there.” 

“And how does my youngest son become an adventuring companion to one such as yourself, hm?” Edmont mused. “One who claims to be immortal, and knowing of secrets to the founding of our great nation. Let alone so close knit that you are  _ family _ , or so Suna’ya claimed.” 

Strikefire’s face fell, and she looked away from him, curling in on herself. “I thought that. Now I’m not so sure.” 

Edmont continued walking, but he looked down at her, constantly surprised at her tiny stature. No taller than Honoroit, if even that, and she looked almost as young as him as well. “And why is that?” 

“Lain, he… I thought we were close, but I fucked up,” she muttered, her voice almost disappearing in the wind. “He said… That I wasn’t his family, and that I didn’t even ask. He’s right, but I just… I thought we were closer than that, after all we’ve been through.” She took a small breath, puffing into the cold air. “Course, I’ve never been good at people anyways. Maybe I’m just that desperate.” 

Edmont could not say much of anything in response to that, and he shook his head as they walked along the path of the vigil. “Emmannelain has always been difficult. I share your feelings towards him.” 

“No, you don’t,” she said, staring up at the statue of the Architect to the north of Fortemps manor. “I’ve only ever accepted him for what he is, not what I want him to be. You and your whole lineage want him to be  _ something _ . I just want him to be himself.” 

Edmont frowned, and couldn’t say he was surprised by the sentiment. Those of common birth did not understand the duty that came with a lineage, the burden of leading those beneath them. Even still, he had expected better from one of the three Warriors. He sighed and took a breath, shaking his head, and continued walking towards the Hoplon for the second time that morning. 

They walked in silence for a while, slowly ascending the steps as Strikefire was considerate of his bad knee. He felt compelled to ask, but he knew she could not answer, and she had no love for this city to even try to explain anything to him. Part of him wanted to brush it to the side, to declare it simply heretical lies that she had been told, but … He could not help but doubt, now, and that was a gateway to sin. If he doubted the See’s word, and the word of Halone herself, what would be next? Consorting with dragons? 

As they reached the top of the steps, Strikefire stared up at one of the statues with a halberd in it’s hand, and she shook her head. She spoke, and her voice was soft on the wind, barely audible, as if she was speaking to herself more than Edmont. “I wonder when this all got started, you know? When the lies started, and how they could have woven them so completely that even now you doubt the truth of your blood. Ignorance itself is not a crime, but don’t you think that people have a duty to root out the truth?” 

“... And if this truth were to shake the very foundation of the city?” Edmont asked, staring down at her. “What would we be?  _ Who _ would we be?”

“Better, I hope,” she murmured. “And if a single truth is enough to undo centuries of lies and have an entire city come crashing down, I’d say that truth is powerful enough to warrant the change.” 

“My Lady,” Edmont began, his voice halting. “I disbelieve that you are as old as you say you are, but I shall give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps your truth is not one that is rooted in fact, and instead in confused memories. I myself have a faulty memory, as do all that grow old.” 

Strikefire was silent, merely staring up at the Architect in pensive thought. 

“Perhaps things shall come out in time,” Edmont said, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “I had hoped you would like our city, but if you feel this strongly…” 

“My memory may be faulty,” she began, her voice choked as tears gathered in her eyes. “But I have never forgotten the death of a friend. Nor would I  _ ever _ do insult to her memory by forgetting the way she cried when she died in my arms. Your truth is one that was built on the backs of the dead, and innocent blood spilled. Your city has been awash with blood ever since it was formed, and what’s worse, you don’t  _ know _ . I don’t begrudge you, ser, for not knowing the circumstances, and I believe that you are innocent of the crimes Nidhogg has charged you with. But a lie is still a lie.” 

Edmont sucked in a breath, and his hand fell from her shoulder. A proclamation such as that… 

“I’m leaving for a few days,” she said, shouldering her pack. “Lain and Suna will know where I am, if you’re worried. But I can’t stay in this city right now, and that is not because of you and your gracious hospitality.” 

“You have my well wishes, Lady Oandore,” he murmured, still trying to process all she had said. “May we meet again, and soon.” 

She looked up at him, and let out a breath of air that puffed in the morning mist. After a moment, she turned to look at the statues of the Architects, and her gaze rested on one in particular. 

“I wonder, Lord Edmont de Fortemps, what lies your father told you that you don’t even know about…?” She asked, staring up at the statue of King Thordan the first. “And what lies you have told your children?” 


End file.
